Here Endeth the Lesson
by tec4cleveland
Summary: Hanley takes Kirby and Caje, along with some replacements, on a mission to provide the Underground with critical info. They are captured by Germans, including a former priest who may or may not be on their side.
1. Chapter 1

**Here Endeth the Lesson  
>(Chapter 1)<strong>

**ETO, 1944**

[A/N: © 2010, Janet Aldrich. Plot and OCs are mine; I'm not being paid for this and don't expect I will be.  
>Just doing it for the love of it.]<p>

"Sir, I think the replacements could use a stop."

Hanley looked at his BAR man wryly. "And I imagine you could too, Kirby."

"Nossir. I was thinkin' about these new men. It's hard to go so far on your first day."

"Is that a fact?" The lieutenant asked with a straight face.

"Of course! I remember …"

Hanley cut off Kirby's reminiscence. "Caje!"

The scout came back.

"We're going to take five. Kirby thinks the new men need a break." The two of them exchanged a humorously knowing look and somehow managed not to smile.

"Yes, Lieutenant." Caje went to crouch under a tree ahead of the others, vigilant even in repose.

"Take five!"

The three new men collapsed gladly in the shade. Hanley went to talk to Caje about his forward observations and to go over the map. Kirby leaned back and surveyed the recent additions to King Company.

"So, Flanders, I hear you're from Cleveland. Is that the one in Illinois, like Sarge, or the other one, in Ohio?"

"Ohio! My dad works at the Cleveland Press, the best newspaper in the city. He covers the Indians." The short, chunky blond grinned. "I get to meet the players, like Bob Feller and Tris Speaker."

"Ah, you oughta talk to Nelson. He's the one who's all baseball crazy."

"You don't like baseball?"

"It's okay, I guess. Just never had time for it." Kirby yawned and leaned back.

"Yeah, baseball's okay, but I played basketball." This was Morgan, the lanky Texas redhead who gave Littlejohn a run for his money when it came to height.

The others hooted.

"No kidding! Are you tall enough?" Docherty, who hailed from Southie in Boston, mocked. "Besides, I thought all you Texas boys all played football."

"Football? No, sir. No football for me." Morgan yawned. "Why should I want some big galoot to break my limbs? Basketball takes finesse and intelligence, not brute force."

"Well, I'm with Flanders," Docherty asserted. "Baseball is my game, although I'm a Braves fan instead of the Indians. Ain't neither team worth much with all the guys in the service or goin' there. Won't be the same 'til they're all back. Us, too."

"Yeah. Feller went in right after Pearl Harbor …" The two soldiers trailed off into what promised to be a long discussion about their respective teams, and Kirby tuned them out. He surveyed Morgan. The kid seemed okay, but he'd seen guys fall apart before when they came to the front, especially for the first time; it was why he tended to keep new replacements at a distance for a while unless they had line experience. The BAR man knew how thin the thread was that kept people alive and felt his own stretch a little more every time someone he knew went down. He watched Caje and Hanley going over the lieutenant's map and hoped with all his heart that the three of them would come back safely. Losing the repple-depple guys was bad enough, but each time a man who'd been with them a long time went – Doc Walton, Braddock, Kelly, Brockmeyer – Kirby wondered if it would be his turn next. He breathed a quick prayer to a God he wasn't even sure he believed in - _Don't let anything happen to us this time, just there and back quiet like _– and waited, resting, for Hanley to move them along.

X X X

Caje was the first one on his feet when Hanley ordered them to move out. After D-Day, the Cajun had put an invisible wall around himself. He respected Sarge and Hanley and he got along all right with his squad mates, but his number one rule was still "Don't get close."

Losing Theo had been a horrible shock. Their friendship went back to the days when they were very small children and he trusted his friend as he had no other person in his life. No one else in the squad understood the world he had grown up in; while he supposed it was a compliment on some level that the others in First Squad treated him as though he were just like them, only with a different accent, he knew he wasn't. Or was he? He thought sadly that the people he had grown up with might not recognize him any more and he wondered more than once what his life would be like after he went home.

He liked being on point for the simple reason that he didn't have to spend much time talking to anyone but the man commanding the detail. Caje gave his best effort because he regarded himself as the first line of protection for the others. He took his duties seriously and while he didn't particularly like the hands-on killing often necessary in his position – it was one thing to shoot the enemy from a distance and quite another to throttle or stab a man or cut his throat and feel his heart stop under your fingertips – he accepted it wearily as a necessary evil, pushing each incident far back in his mind to be thought of later, if at all._ I don't want to do this any more, but what choice do I have?_

There was movement ahead of him under a small linden grove and he dropped quickly and froze, raising his hand in a clenched fist. He sensed that the others had frozen as well, and felt Hanley come up behind him quietly.

"What is it, Caje?" the lieutenant whispered.

"A Kraut over there, under those trees. Do I take him out?" Caje replied, _sotto voce_.

"Did he see you?"

"I don't think so, sir, no."

"Then let's hold on for a moment and see if he's moving or staying put. If he's moving, we'll just wait until he's out of range. If he's staying put, then …" Hanley let his voice trail off; he knew Caje had more than enough experience to understand the implications.

"Yes, sir." Caje understood the lieutenant very well. _One more life … one more face I hope I can forget someday._

The two soldiers waited, the rest of the squad poised behind them.

X X X

Gil Hanley never wanted to be a commissioned officer. For a moment, when Captain Jampel called him in on D-Day plus two and told him about the proffered promotion, he seriously considered turning it down. Being a sergeant was more responsibility than he needed sometimes._ I guess I missed that class in college about sending men out to die. _In the end, he decided to accept the position, especially after he heard that the Army would waive the usual transfer to a new unit, that he'd be staying with King Company. There was a certain comfort in continuing to lead the men who had followed him onto Omaha Beach and to the apple orchard on D-Day.

He glanced at the soldier next to him; he understood Caje's reserve, although sometimes he missed the happier, more open man he remembered from England. Hanley thought that the kind of work Caje had been ordered to do time after time, far more than any other member of First Squad, had probably changed him as much as losing Theo. _I've taken out Germans with my bare hands, but not on the scale he has._ _And now I'm going to have to order him to do it again._ "Caje …" He nodded toward the sentry.

The Cajun nodded, slung his Garand and glided silently away, taking out his bayonet as he went. Less than five minutes later, he stepped out from the linden trees and waved toward the others. When Kirby and the others caught up with him, he was wiping his blade on the grass.

Morgan and Flanders looked queasily at the dead German and the blood, while Docherty's face wore an unconvincing expression meant to convey that he was unimpressed, that he'd seen it all before.

"Caje, take the point. Kirby, take the rear."

"Yes, Lieutenant." "Yessir."

Flanders eased back to Kirby. "How can he do that? Doesn't it bother him?"

"What do you think?" Kirby said scornfully. "Sure it does. But he does it because he has to, and because it's his job to keep things straightened out up front. Now get where you belong. I got to keep an eye out back here and I can't do that when you're talking to me."

Flanders swallowed hard, nodded and moved back into his place.

X X X

Morgan was gone not fifteen minutes later. Caje halted at the top of a rise, sensing out of his experience and sometimes-uncanny intuition that the plot of land ahead of them was not as innocent as it appeared. He once again signaled for a stop.

The gangling redhead contemptuously brushed aside the astonished Cajun's attempt to keep him from entering the field. Four long steps later, the mine he triggered tore him apart in front of the horrified detail.

"What t'e hell did he t'ink he was doing?" Caje muttered, so quietly that only Hanley heard him.

The officer shot a sharp glance at his scout. "We all saw you try to stop him, Caje. It's not your fault."

"Yes, sir."

Docherty glanced at Flanders, who shrugged and nodded. The Irishman walked up to Caje. "There's something you ought to know. Morgan said his Da worked in the oilfields in East Texas and there were a lot of Cajuns there. I don't think he had much use for 'em. Morgan kind of hinted that way when he found out you were a Cajun."

"And now he's dead. Damn' fool." Caje said something in French under his breath and then crossed himself. After a pause, Docherty followed suit.

"All right. Kirby, Flanders, Docherty, gather rocks - and stay well back from where Caje is. Caje, start here –" Hanley picked a spot that would keep their path away from what was left of Morgan.

The scout nodded briefly, and then pulled out his bayonet and knelt down at the edge of the field. He began testing the ground in front of him, moving slowly forward. Kirby and Flanders, who arrived at almost the same time, followed along behind him, laying stones, careful not to deviate even the smallest amount from the ground tested by Caje.

What should have been an easy, untroubled five-minute walk across a field was a tension-filled half-hour crawl. No one breathed easily until they were all back in the trees on the other side.

"Caje, there's a road on the other side of this wooded area. Check it out and make sure we don't have any unfriendly traffic to worry about."

The Cajun took a deep breath, nodded and left.

Flanders spoke up. "How did Caje know there was a minefield or something there?"

"Kid, you're just a bundle of questions. You gonna be a newspaper reporter like your old man?" Kirby inquired sarcastically.

"Hey! I'm just trying to learn! I want to stay alive and get home to watch a game and eat a hot dog in League Park. You don't have to be such a jerk!"

"Whoa, easy." Kirby raised his hand. "None of us understands how Caje gets things, to tell you the truth. Maybe when we get back you can ask him. Although –" the BAR man shook his head, "he'll probably just tell you 'he knew'."

"Oh."

Caje came back on the double. "Lieutenant, there's a Kraut patrol, about six or seven of them, heading straight for us. They must have heard the mine go off."

Hanley motioned back towards the woods. The group trotted back to drop in the thickest underbrush. "Nobody fires," he said from the corner of his mouth. "We're not here to draw attention to ourselves."

The squad sank quietly into the brushwood, waiting.

The German squad was on the alert. One of the men saw Morgan's remains and called to his _Feldwebel_.

The non-com looked around, and called out: "Reisdel!" The patrol watched, but no response came.

"Probably the sentry," Hanley muttered and Caje nodded.

None of the Germans entered the minefield. The _Feldwebel_ gathered his detail and they wheeled back the way they had come, double-time.

Hanley's shoulders sagged. "They know we're here."

Kirby, Flanders and Docherty moved up behind the other two. "So what do we do now, Lieutenant?"

"We go on, Kirby." Hanley bit his lip and thought. "We have to get this information to the Underground. Too much counts on it."

Caje nodded. "Yes, Lieutenant. What now?"

"Let's go. Double-time."

The patrol moved out, quickly. Branches tore at hands and uniforms, sprang back and lashed across faces. Periodically, Hanley would wave for a stop and they would listen for pursuit. He sent Caje forward; each time, the scout would come back with a negative report. They had less than a third of the distance to cover when Docherty tripped and fell on his gun. It went off, he jerked once and died.

"Ah, God," Kirby muttered. "This whole thing is cursed."

"Shut up, Kirby!" growled the discomfited Hanley, who almost felt as though he agreed with the wiry Chicagoan.

Caje rolled Docherty over and gingerly picked up the man's rifle, affixed Docherty's bayonet and stuck it in the ground. He took the helmet and propped it on the top of the rifle. The scout reached down and snapped off a dog tag. Hanley accepted it reluctantly.

"_Hande hoch, Leutnant._"

"That's not funny, Kirby."

"That's not me, Lieutenant."

In unison, the patrol looked up. The squad they had seen earlier was facing them, rifles aimed at their hearts. Slowly, each of them dropped his weapon and raised his hands.

"We surrender."

**END OF PART ONE**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here Endeth the Lesson  
>(Chapter 2)<strong>

**ETO, 1944**

[A/N: © 2010, Janet Aldrich. Plot and OCs are mine; I'm not being paid for this and don't expect I will be.  
>Just doing it for the love of it.]<p>

It wasn't a big room, as such things went. Kirby had paced it a dozen times, four steps up and four back. Finally, Flanders had enough.

"Kirby, willya for cryin' out loud sit down?"

"Shut up, kid."

"He's right, Kirby. You're driving me crazy, too." Caje stretched. "You know the Krauts treat officers okay. They're not going to do anything terrible to Hanley."

"Officers, yeah. But the last time I looked, we weren't officers, right?" The BAR man hunched over, hands nervously rubbing his upper arms in a futile effort to get warm.

"No, but we can't tell them anything. They know that." The Cajun sat calmly against the wall, legs stretched out.

"Have you been captured before?" Flanders inquired, jittery.

"Yep."

"Boy, you're chatty."

Caje shrugged. "Name, rank, serial number, that's all. They've probably got someone outside listening now, hoping we'll get so excited we'll let something drop. So keeping quiet is a good idea, _non_?"

The younger man glanced at the door and nodded. "Right. Got it."

Footsteps sounded, warning the three soldiers that someone was approaching. The door swung open and a young corporal came in. He held up the dog tags that had been taken from them and squinted at one. "Which one of you is Paul, ah, LeMay?"

The scout spoke quietly, the picture of unconcern. "I'm Paul LeMay."

The German stepped back and pointed his gun at Caje. "Then you will come with me." He signaled to someone outside the door. "You. You will come in here." He stepped back and Hanley entered.

Caje passed the lieutenant and looked him over.

"I'm fine, LeMay."

"Good."

"_Sei ruhig! Die Gefangenen nicht sprechen!_"

The door slammed shut behind Caje.

Kirby dashed to Hanley. "What was it like?"

The lieutenant shrugged. "No violence. The officer was quite urbane. Which makes him more dangerous than the ones who slap you around."

"Like Steiner. You shoulda seen Sarge and Caje after he got done with 'em." The BAR man shook his head. "I got nothin' to tell him."

Hanley brooded. "Name, rank and serial number. Nothing else." _I hope the officer believes that Caje is just a lowly PFC. With Saunders in the hospital and Caje the Acting Squad Leader, he knows more than he usually would …_

X X X

Caje was surprised to find that the German soldiers who escorted him down the hall never laid a hand on him. He recalled that Steiner's men had shoved and otherwise manhandled all of the PW's. _Of course, in my case, _he recalled wryly, _I had injured one of their friends. That __might__ make a difference._

The soldier in front paused in front of a closed door and knocked.

"_Geben sie, bitte._"

"_Herr Major Schönberg_."

The first soldier opened the door and escorted Caje in. A German officer in SS regalia, surprisingly young, stood behind a desk. "_Bitte schön, Gemeiner._"

He waved Caje to a ladderback chair in front of the desk. "Have a seat, PFC LeMay."

Caje advanced cautiously and sat. He looked straight ahead, not seeing what was in front of him in any detail. _Name, rank, serial number … name, rank, serial number …_

The officer held the scout's dog tags in front of him and studied them. "If I understand these correctly, Private, you are about 28 years old, have type A blood – and are a Catholic." He looked up. "Is that correct?"

Caje's only response was the familiar one, which he had given before when captured. "My name is Paul LeMay, my rank is Private First Class, my serial number is 101 …"

"Yes, yes. I know all that." The major waved his hand in the air, as though Caje's answer was smoke and he could disperse it. "You misunderstand my interest, Private." He put the dog tags on his desk and rose, walking around to where Caje sat. "I'm a rather unusual person. Before the war, I was a priest. I even spent time in the War Ministry, thanks to my family connections, working as a _Katholischer_ _Kriegspfarrer_ – a chaplain, I suppose you would say. But I left behind my vocation, with the blessings of the Party, if not my bishop, to become an officer." He chuckled, quietly and a bit sadly, and then sighed. "That was a mistake, between us. I haven't enjoyed the things I've been called to do. Somehow, I think you understand what I mean. Don't you?"

The scout swallowed hard and raised his head to stare at the wall in front of him.

"I do hope you don't play poker, Private First Class LeMay. You may think you're being stoic, but your eyes are expressive. Quite expressive." He smiled and his expression was kind. "They tell me you were – what is the phrase your Army uses? – 'on point' for your squad. The scout, am I correct? From all that I have learned, people in your position often find themselves taking on the 'dirty work'."

Caje involuntarily grimaced. He refused to speak, and lowered his head to stare at the floor. The officer's words revived many of the questions he had been asking himself on this mission. The last thing he wanted was to show this man his vulnerability.

"It must be horrible to feel a man's life trickle out onto your hands, or feel their breath shudder to a stop when you have garroted them. Paul - if I may call you that - do you see their faces when you close your eyes at night?"

The Cajun didn't answer.

"Do you consider yourself a good Catholic?"

Caje nodded, hardly more than a twitch of his head.

"Somehow, I doubt you were an assassin before the war, Paul. And I doubt you're looking to continue this work afterwards. I wonder - as a good Catholic, have you been to confession for the things you've done?"

To his dismay, Caje found himself forcing back tears. All the doubts he had been feeling recently, the killing of the sentry on the way here, threatened to overwhelm him. The dam he had spent all this time carefully constructing in order to restrain the guilt and loathing he felt at the close-order killing expected of him suddenly crumbled. The scout's face dropped into his hands, and then felt the Major clasp his shoulder.

"Thou art a priest forever, unto the order of Melchizedek …" Schönberg quoted Scripture, softly.

Caje looked up to see the major take a stole from his desk drawer, kiss it and drape it around his neck.

"I was never defrocked, Private. I am a priest. There are no microphones in here, no one to hear but ourselves – and Him. If it will make it easier, I will sit behind you and you need not face me. But perhaps it is time for you to face yourself and seek God's forgiveness."

LeMay took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled himself together. The hazel eyes met those of the major in some disbelief.

"I'm not lying, Private. I would not so endanger my immortal soul – or yours either. Please believe me, I am not asking you to give me military details or compromise your comrades. Cleanse your heart, my son. Find some peace."

The scout surrendered to the burden he had been carrying. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been … has been more than seven months since my last confession …"

X X X

Footsteps came down the hall – Flanders and Kirby once again drew away from the door, and Hanley awoke and rolled to his feet. The door opened and Caje came in, untouched by the guards.

They waved Kirby out the door and he went, looking apprehensively behind him at the others as the door closed again.

"Well?"

"Sir?" Caje sat on the floor and looked up at Hanley.

"What did he ask you?"

"Nothing; at least, nothing you would expect."

Flanders and Hanley exchanged a glance. "Nothing I would expect? What does that mean?" the Lieutenant snapped.

"The _Herr Major_ is a priest, although he has temporarily suspended his vocation in favor of being a soldier."

"And …"

"He wanted to talk to a fellow Catholic about it. And he confessed me."

Hanley's eyebrows threatened to launch themselves off his face. "He did what?"

"Are you Catholic, Lieutenant?"

"No, I'm not. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You, Flanders?"

"Nope. I'm not really much of anything."

"Well, confession doesn't have to be specific. You don't have to say, four days ago in the village of … whatever … I stabbed two members of the, say, 22nd Panzer while I was on patrol. It's more like - I've killed more people than I can count, I've drunk too much alcohol more times than I can remember, I can't recall all the women that I've … well, it cleanses. I make contrition and get released from my sin. I'm forgiven. If I was offered the Sacrament, I could partake." Caje looked into the middle distance. "It's been so long since I've felt that way."

His focus sharpened and he looked Hanley right in the eye. "I told him nothing of any military value or anything that would damage anyone else. And that's the whole truth."

"He said he _was_ a priest? Doesn't that mean that he's not one now?"

"No, sir. A priest, unless the archbishop or the Holy Father specifically defrocks him, is a priest forever … I say again, nothing I confessed was of military value. I didn't discuss – anything. Only my own personal failings. _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa_." Caje made a fist and struck himself in the chest three times.

The lieutenant shook his head. "I'll admit I don't understand this – it's odd, to say the least. But if he asks you about our objectives and our detail, Caje, I expect you to hold to the Code of Conduct."

"I have no intention of doing otherwise, Lieutenant."

X X X

"It was the screwiest thing, Lieutenant. That Kraut thought I'd fall for his stuff and confess. Hell, I never confessed even when I was sure it was a real priest."

"Caje did," Flanders contributed, with a doubtful look at the scout.

Kirby stared at his buddy in disbelief. "You didn't!"

"I did. But then, I always did. I thought you were a Catholic, Kirby."

"Hey, my old lady was, not me. I just put that on the Army records to have something listed."

"Well, it's done. And if you're telling the truth about what you said …"

"I AM, Lieutenant!"

"… then I guess it's no harm done." Hanley paced. "I wonder what the next step will be – experience says it's going to get tougher. Get some sleep while you can."

The three enlisted men sacked out on the hard floor, covered by the thin blankets which were all they had been given. Kirby cast another sarcastic look at Caje. Flanders looked between them, bewildered. Caje resented Kirby's distrust; he didn't like that it made him feel distanced from the others. Sleep would be long in coming for them all.

Hanley pondered as the others rested. _The Germans usually separate officers from their men; what is he gaining by keeping us together? What is this __really__ all about?_

X X X

From his listening post in another part of the compound, Major Schönberg gave his superior a triumphant smile.

"I believe my plan is working, Colonel!"

"We normally keep officers in different places than their enlisted men. I'm sure the Lieutenant is wondering about this."

"Perhaps. We will need to step up the physical part of interrogation. They will expect it."

"Then let us not disappoint them! This is in accord with your strategy, Major?"

"Yes. Divide and conquer, I suppose you could say. Along those lines, LeMay's confession accomplished two things in our favor: one, I have gained a certain amount of trust and positive feeling and two, he is being slowly separated from his comrades, which can only be to the good for us."

"Indeed, Schönberg. I begin to understand the English phrase, 'the benefit of clergy'. In this case, I believe the benefit is all ours. We must hope that LeMay does not come to realize that before we can make use of it to extract the information he holds. You believe he is privy to something of value."

"Yes, Colonel. A lieutenant on patrol with enlisted men – it is only likely that he would entrust at least some information about the critical part of the mission to his most trusted man – and that appears to be LeMay. This coincides with the observations of the men tracking this detail."

"Indeed. A pity about Reisdel."

Schönberg shrugged. "Well, to borrow another phrase from English, one cannot make omelets without breaking eggs. The loss of one man is insignificant in the general scheme of things."

"It also tells us a great deal about the nature of this LeMay. He kills quickly and efficiently. Be sure that you do not lose his trust and become another victim. As you say, the loss of one man is insignificant … but I would prefer not to lose you - if possible."

"The colonel is too kind, "Schönberg bowed ironically to his superior. "We'll let them rest for now. Tomorrow we will initiate the second part of my plan … and we will no doubt have the information Command is seeking before the end of the day."

"No doubt. _Sieg Heil_!" The colonel departed, bound for his mistress and a bottle of contraband cognac that had been waiting for a special occasion.

"_Sieg Heil."_ The soi disantpriest sat at his desk, looked at the stole in his drawer and shut it. _Tomorrow, LeMay … tomorrow._

**END OF PART TWO**


	3. Chapter 3

**ETO, 1944**

[A/N: © 2010, Janet Aldrich. Plot and OCs are mine; I'm not being paid for this and don't expect I will be.  
>Just doing it for the love of it.]<p>

{ Wake up! }

The four Americans rolled out of their blankets and jumped to their feet.

"What the heck?!" Kirby rubbed his eyes and squinted at the guards.

"_Sie_!" One guard pointed at Flanders, grabbed his arm and half-dragged him out of the room.

The other one gestured at Caje. "_Und Sie auch_. _Kommen!_"

The door slammed behind them and Kirby and Hanley looked at one another. "Looks like the easy part's over, Lieutenant."

Hanley nodded grimly.

xxx

The hall ended in a T; one Kraut dragged Flanders to the left and Caje was ordered to the right. The young soldier stared at the Cajun, terrified, as the other German manhandled him down the hall.

Caje began to say something to reassure him, but the guard with Flanders pushed the younger soldier into a room suddenly and there was no chance. The Kraut who was guarding him turned him around, not harshly, and escorted him to an elaborate door.

"Go in," the guard said in passable English.

The scout opened the door and entered the room. It was an elaborate chapel that must have been built with the chateau in the distant past. Caje surveyed the room. _This is 14__th__ or 15__th__ century design – look at that woodwork!_

"You appreciate this, _ja?"_

He turned. It was Major Schonberg, holding what Caje realized were an acolyte's vestments for celebrating Mass.

"Yes, I am. My – " The scout stopped, realizing that the man in front of him might be a priest, but he was also an enemy officer. "I am interested, yes."

Schönberg didn't comment on Caje's sudden change of subject. "I am assuming you were an acolyte at home? That you assisted your priest during Mass?"

"Yes." _I don't suppose that qualifies as a military secret._

"Then you can assist me." Schönberg put down the vestments and handed Caje a cassock and amice.

He looked at the vestments as if in a dream. Then he shook his head to clear it. "What about Flanders? It looked as though your people were going to work him over. I'm supposed to just participate in the Mass as though it's peacetime and not'ing is happening?"

"Nonsense. It's only a simple interrogation. We can see he's new to the field. What could he possibly know? He'll go through the same thing your lieutenant and the other private did and be taken back to the cell. Now come."

Caje complied reluctantly, and assisted Schönberg almost by rote, as he had when he was Paulie LeMay helping Father Fontenot at St. Tammany's. The soldier who had escorted him to the chapel was the sole congregation.

Finally, the Mass was finished and Schönberg dismissed him. As they divested, Schönberg smiled at him and asked, "Isn't it good to be able to partake of the Sacrament?"

He nodded.

The young soldier touched him on the sleeve. "It is good to have another Catholic here. So many of our men only pretend to believe or don't believe at all." He smiled shyly. "_Danke_."

Caje couldn't relax, he looked at the vestments he had just removed and then turned abruptly to Schönberg. "When will it be my turn?"

The Major glanced at Caje, eyebrow raised. "Your turn? Oh. You mean, to be questioned?" He shook his head. "For some reason, the Herr Colonel has focused on you as the person of interest in your squad. I have discouraged this; I informed Colonel Karlen that I have questioned you thoroughly and you have no information to give." His jaw set. "I would prefer you to avoid the kind of unpleasantness that the Herr Colonel would inflict. In a very short while, the lines will change enough that none of you will have any knowledge of current conditions worthy of the name. Then …" He turned to the young soldier. "Friedrich, you may go. Please wait for PFC LeMay in the hallway."

Friedrich snapped to attention and saluted. "_Jawohl, Herr Major._" He nodded to Caje and then left the room.

"And then, " Schönberg continued, as though there had been no interruption, "Well, I have contacts in the Maquis. You may be transported toward a prison camp, but you will never reach it. I promise." He made the Sign of the Cross over Caje. "Go in peace."

Caje left the room and Friedrich escorted him back to the cell.

"Where did they take you?" Hanley snapped. "You've been gone for quite a while."

"I –" he stopped. He heard groaning in the room behind the officer.

"Oh, yes. Flanders has already come back, and he's not in the same good shape you're in."

Hanley stepped aside and Caje gasped when he saw the young man, Kirby next to him. There was bruising and wounds on every exposed surface and blood spattered his face and clothing.

"Yeah, Caje," Kirby said, hostility written all over his face. "How come he's all beat up and you – not a scratch, and I can smell the wine from here. What gives?"

The Cajun dropped to his knees. "_Mon Dieu._" He stood suddenly and whirled toward the door, shouting through it: "Where is Major Schönberg? I want to talk to him now!"

xxx

"Go over this again, Caje. I want to make sure I understand." Hanley's tone was brusque.

Caje patiently reviewed the events of the night before. "… a priest forever, unto the order of Melchizedek," the scout quoted.

Flanders gasped.

"What is it, kid?" Kirby asked.

"You know when I said that I wasn't much of anything? Religion-wise?"

For a moment, no one responded and then Caje said, "Yes, I remember."

"Well, I'm not now, but I was raised Baptist. Your so-called – " The young man stopped, fighting for breath. When Kirby would have shushed him, he waved the BAR man off. "That Kraut – what he said, that's blasphemy. That verse is about Christ, not human priests."

"Maybe he just couldn't think of anything better," Hanley said uncertainly.

"He wouldn't have to think very hard," Flanders retorted weakly. "There's plenty of other verses he could have used." He turned back to Caje. "I know you want to believe him, but really –" Flanders coughed up blood, "I think he's lying to you. Using you. I, I – " He struggled for breath again; his chest rose and fell and he died.

Caje knelt by him. He closed the young soldier's eyes and made the Sign of the Cross over him.

"Is that supposed to help?" Kirby snapped.

The scout said quietly "It's all I have … to give him."

xxx

After about a half-hour, the three of them heard marching footsteps. The door swung open violently. Major Schönberg entered, escorted by two armed guards. The guards shoved the three PWs back into the corner.

"What is it?"

Caje's eyes blazed at the Major. "No interrogation, eh? T'e same treatment t'ey gave t'e ot'ers? Isn't t'at what you say? _Vous saviez qu'il ne savait rien_!

"Caje!" Hanley reached out to restrain the scout, concerned that he would anger the officer to the point that he would receive the same treatment Flanders had gotten.

"Sir, he knew Flanders didn't know anything! He said so! And now, Flanders is dead. Why kill someone who knew nothing?"

"What are you talking about?"

Caje stepped aside so the German officer could see Flanders' body.

Hanley watched the Major coolly, while Kirby's attention went back and forth between Caje and Schönberg like a spectator at a tennis match.

Schönberg blanched. He knelt by the young man's body and tentatively reached out a shaking hand to touch him.

"No! I swear to you, LeMay, I swear. What I told you was the truth. No! This should never have happened. It was only to be routine, because all of you had to be questioned." He turned away from Flanders and stared at the angry Cajun. "I promise. I will see he gets a decent burial and I will see Colonel Karlen. I tell you … I tell you ..." He stood abruptly and fled.

The guards scrambled to keep up with him, slamming the door behind them.

xxx

Colonel Karlen leaned back in his chair with a sarcastic smile as Schönberg entered. { _Mein Gott_, what an affecting performance. I nearly wept, ask Stossel if I didn't. }

The SS man grinned. { Surely this man's death will be the trigger we need to divide the Amis and bring the information we need. }

{ I believe it will. }

The three men listened intently. The Americans were not talking – there was the sound of footsteps and scuffling as Flanders' body was removed.

Stossel began to speak, and Schönberg waved him off, leaning forward.

"What is it?"

"I thought I heard whispering."

"I don't hear anything."

"_Stille_, both of you!"

"LeMay, if we get back, you're going up on charges." _Hanley_, Schönberg thought. "There's no excuse for what you've done. You have to have given the Major information."

"I did not! _Par Dieu, _Hanley, if you weren't an officer, I'd deck you." _Caje_

"Take your best shot. Hitting an officer won't even make a dent on what you'll be facing." _Hanley again_.

"I can't believe I thought of you as a friend, traitor!" _Kirby_. There was the sound of a fist connecting solidly with flesh and of a body hitting the all. "That's for threatening the Lieutenant!"

"_Fils de putain!_" _No question about who that was._

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Frenchman. Maybe you need a taste of what Flanders got. You might want to look the other way, Lieutenant." _Kirby again. Well, we seem to have made an impression._

"No reason. This may be the only justice he gets. I'm not getting in your way, Kirby. Quite the contrary."

The noises continued, and by the sound of it, Caje seemed to be taking quite a beating.

The three Germans exchanged satisfied looks.

{ Congratulations, } Colonel Karlen nodded at Major Schönberg. { You'd better go rescue your lost lamb, Major, before the others kill him. }

{ There's no hurry. He'll be all the more cooperative for a little softening up first. } He took one of the Colonel's cigars, cut the end off and lit it, smiling sardonically, listening to the furore in the cell below.

**END OF PART THREE**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here Endeth the Lesson**

(Part IV)

**[A/N: © 2010, Janet Aldrich. Plot and OCs are mine; I'm not being paid for this and don't expect I will be.**

**Just doing it for the love of it.**

**Starting something new: I've footnoted (well, endnoted, really) the non-usual French. I figure you probably know what "**_**merci**_**" means, and who the **_**Maquis**_** are, but otherwise, you can look at the end to have more unusual phrases translated for you.]**

It was some time after midnight when Major Schönberg returned to the cell. His ever-present guard ordered a defiant Hanley and Kirby to one side. Caje didn't move. He was sprawled in the corner of the room, looking like a soldier doll abruptly discarded by a thoughtless child. His gaze was unfocused and blood trickled from his nose and mouth.

"Gott im Himmel! What have you done to him?" Schönberg's expression was equal parts shock and fury.

"See, Caje. Your Kraut buddy's all worried about you. The two of you should get along fine!" Kirby smirked at the Major. "That's how we treat traitors, Kraut!"

"You're a fool. He has not betrayed anything, not you, not your Army, not his faith." He glared at the other two over his shoulder. "I thought you Americans believed so in freedom of religion. Apparently that's a lie just like all the other American lies!"

"You'll pardon me if I don't believe you, either," Hanley said coolly. "It has nothing to do with religion and everything to do with loyalty. It looks to us like he doesn't have any."

Schönberg rattled off orders to the soldiers with him in rapid-fire German. Two of them left, and returned with two more soldiers wearing medic's armbands and carrying a litter. They loaded a semiconscious Caje and took him from the room. Kirby and Hanley exchanged a glance. There was a look in the Lieutenant's eye that Schönberg didn't quite understand.

"Where are you taking him?" Hanley snapped.

"Surely you're not concerned about him?" Schönberg sneered. "We will obey the Geneva Conventions and see that an injured man is treated. You have heard of those, correct?" He watched the medics leave the room. "In the meantime, you are to be transported to a PW camp inside the Fatherland, where you will receive the sort of German hospitality that you deserve."

The major began to leave and then turned back to the prisoners.

"I'll be sure to let the Kommandant of the camp know what you think of Catholics, gentlemen, and I'll ask him to pass that along to those you will be sharing accommodations with. Perhaps you'll receive some of the same treatment you dealt out to Private LeMay, eh?"

The door slammed, and Kirby looked uneasily at Hanley. "Maybe now would be a good time to remember how to pray, huh?"

XXX

Schönberg stood with one of the German medics who had helped move Caje from the cell, and they watched the semiconscious soldier.

Well, how is he?

It appears that they beat him pretty soundly. I think he has a broken rib and perhaps even a mild concussion.

The Major scowled. This is not good. He slapped his hand on his leg and thought. What do you have to give him for pain?

Well, we have morphine -

Morphine? Are you mad? He cannot sleep!

That is it, other than phenacetin.

Give him that then, since he probably has a headache on top of everything else. Schönberg stood and waited while the medic roused Caje, gave him pills and water and left.

"Paul." The Major leaned over the semi-conscious soldier and slapped his face lightly to rouse him.

"Wha - ?" Caje stared at him blearily.

"Paul, you need to complete your mission to the Maquis!" Schönberg hissed at him. "I need to help you get out of the chateau."

Caje shook his head, apparently to clear it. "_T'es fou_![i] I don't know anything about that." His eyes rolled back in his head and he sagged back onto the cot, unresponsive.

Schönberg cursed and stepped back, thinking. He went to the door and summoned the young soldier who had participated in the Mass earlier. "Stay here, Friedrich. Guard him," he said, and left.

XXX

Caje watched through slitted eyes as the Major walked out of the room.

The young soldier took one look at the apparently unconscious soldier and then stood at the foot of his cot, his back to the scout.

Swiftly, Caje left the cot, pulling a loop of cloth from his pocket. He silently moved behind Friedrich and throttled him with the improvised garrote. After a short struggle, he slid the body under the blankets on the cot, unwrapped the bandage from his own head and put it on the soldier.

At the door, Caje peered into the hallway. Listening intently, he gently shifted the door open and slid out. About twenty feet on, he turned to the left and went to a small door he'd seen before, with a small window that had showed him it opened to the outside. Once again, he surveyed his situation and then moved out into the night. He let his eyes adjust to the dark and then took his position from the stars.

Swiftly, he ran through the trees, stopping occasionally to consult his memory and take a bearing, all the time watching for pursuit and listening to the sounds around him. He continued until he came to a modest farmhouse.

Caje knocked at the door and the woman who answered kept the door closed to a mere sliver until he murmured the password to her. She let him in and walked him through the house, where several men carrying weapons waited. Quickly, he spoke to them in French, passing on instructions. They nodded. The eldest man took Caje out the back door. The others followed and melted into the shadows around the house, waiting.

The scout followed his guide to a small building with lights showing through battered shades. The man gestured toward it mutely with his gun and turned around to return to the farmhouse.

He opened the door and went in. It turned out to be a drinking establishment, not quite nice enough to rise to the level of "Bar". A few of the men gave him a fleeting look and then went back to their glasses. _They might have had battered men dressed as American soldiers drop by every night_, Caje thought. _Maybe t'ey do_. He shrugged and walked up to the man tending bar. "_Un aperitif, s'il vous plait. Et qu'est-ce que tu veux? _[ii]"

At this phrase, the bartender put down the glass he'd picked up, and looked at an older man with thinning grey hair and a lined face sitting nearby. That man, in turn, nodded at two others, who stood and walked out to watch the front door. The bartender took a map from below the bar and handed it to the leader, who gestured Caje to sit down at his table.

"We have been expecting you for more than a day."

"We've been detained."

"So I gathered." He cocked an eyebrow at Caje. "Je suis Hirondelle[iii]."

"_Et je m'appelle_[iv] PFC Paul LeMay."

"You speak very interesting French, M. LeMay. I assume you are Cajun? We have had Cajuns come here before."

"Yes, I am. But –"

"But. I know you are anxious to return and must hurry." Hirondelle sighed. "The war is making barbarians of us all. One day perhaps you will return and there will be time for civilities." He unrolled the map and he and Caje noted the information Lieutenant Hanley had entrusted him with. Finally, the Maquis man nodded. "Yes, we will do these things. It will put a spoke into the _Boche_ machine, _sans aucun doute_[v]."

Caje stood. "M. Hirondelle. _Merci_!"

"M. LeMay. _Et vous, aussi_[vi]." They shook hands.

He went with Caje to the door, and signaled to his men to let the scout pass. "_Bonne chance_[vii]!"

Caje nodded and ran back towards the chateau.

XXX

When he returned, he stealthily retraced his steps into the building. As he carefully entered the improvised clinic, he was hit sharply and staggered back against the door.

"Well, PFC LeMay. Taking some exercise for your health? And you were so injured earlier. You've made a miraculous recovery." Schönberg hit a dazed Caje again.

Caje shook off the effects of the Major's attack and circled warily away from him.

"Not so talkative now, _hein_? You sang like a bird earlier, although I do admit to some annoyance that you said so little of substance."

Caje kept silent.

"Do tell me what gave me away. I assume those 'beatings' you took at the hands of your friends were a sham?"

Caje's grin had no humor in it. "_Mon_ _arriere -Papère_ – my great-grandfat'er - was a planter before t'e War Between t'e States. I played in his house, or what was left of it, as a child. It had listening posts in the servants' quarters and below stairs, as the British say, just like t'e one in our cell. Once we realized you were eavesdropping…"

"Indeed. I'd no idea I was dealing with a scion of the aristocracy," drawled Schönberg. "Such a small thing … it never occurred to any of us, and you never mentioned it in our little talk, which I related to Colonel Karlen."

"Obviously you don't observe the secrecy of the confessional." Caje riposted.

"Ah. Well, I suppose it's time for a little confession of my own, PFC LeMay. You see, I'm not really a priest. I'm not even a Catholic." As Caje's eyes widened, he grinned. "Oh, I was. I even went to seminary. But I've chosen to follow a more earthbound savior now, I suppose. 'I believe in one Fuhrer, Hitler Almighty, remaker of heaven and earth …'" His grin widened, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter. He feinted at an angry, dismayed Caje, who dropped back. "You were so easy; so trained, so conditioned. If it wasn't for that innate stubbornness some of you _untermenschen_ have, I think I could have gotten all the way through."

Caje struck suddenly and his fist connected with Schönberg's mouth.

The Major shook his head and wiped his face with one gloved hand. "Well, the Colonel said you were dangerous. I shall have to be more careful. No more playing with you. I'll just have to finish you off."

"T'at might be harder t'an you t'ink, _Herr Major_."

Schönberg shrugged. "T'en it will be," he mocked Caje.

The two men moved cautiously around one another.

"By the way, one of our soldiers followed you to your visit to your contacts. While we're waltzing, my Colonel and my men are out destroying your _Maquis_ friends. And all it cost me was poor old Friedrich." He sighed. "Well, as I told the good Colonel earlier, you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs. _C'est__ la guerre_, isn't that what you French speakers say? Of course, if I were to give you time to confess to a real priest before I killed you, it would be one more thing you have to add to the confession you made that didn't count. The little girl whose father you killed, for instance. Or those two soldiers you killed who thought you were surrendering." He shook his head in mock rebuke. "Tsk, tsk … such a pity." His eyes sharpened, became almost feral. "That, Private First Class Paul LeMay, is why we Germans will win in the end. We don't run crying to a priest when we do what soldiers must."

With a rush, Caje charged Schönberg. The two of them grappled, and with a sudden grab, Caje took the SS dagger off the ersatz priest's belt. With a move that was sickeningly familiar to him, the scout pulled his arm back and rammed the blade hard into the Major's chest.

Schönberg's eyes widened in amazement, and as he died, Caje snarled in his ear. "This ought to be anot'er t'ing to confess, but trust me, Major, I won't go crying to _anyone_ about killin' you!"

Caje dropped the body onto the floor and squatted beside it for a moment, head lowered. He looked over at the cot where Friedrich's body lay. He growled, swung his fist and hit one of the cots, sending it halfway across the room. With a savage gesture, he wiped the dagger on Schönberg's uniform and tucked the blade into his uniform. He took the keys to the cell from the Major's belt. Moving cautiously to the door and once again looking out, he left the room at a run.

XXX

"Have you heard any guards outside our door recently?" Kirby asked for the tenth time.

"No. Have you?" snapped Hanley.

They heard running footsteps. Whoever was coming wasn't making any effort to be quiet.

There was the jingle of keys and the door opening. "Don't jump me, you guys."

"Caje!" Hanley and Kirby came charging out the door.

"Where are all the troops?" Hanley asked as they ran for the exit.

"Out t'inkin' t'ey're gonna wipe out the _Maquis_."

Hanley stopped and the other two stopped with him. His eyes were bright. "You warned them? Used the decoy location?"

"Yep. And gave t'em t'e details about t'e sabotage," Caje said, more subdued than Hanley expected him to be. "When I left, t'ey were waiting for t'e Krauts."

"But the Germans shoulda left someone to watch us, right?"

"They never had a ver' big detail here, Kirby. I don't t'ink I ever saw more t'an ten or twelve men besides the officers. T'ey would have taken 'em all to clear out the _Maquis_. And why would they worry anyway?" Caje asked. "You two were locked up, and t'e Major, he was sure he was going to be able to handle me. His arrogance got him killed."

Kirby was stunned. "You killed a priest?"

The scout looked at the floor, unable to meet their eyes. "He wasn't no damned priest! Flanders was right. It was all a lie."

"I'm sorry, Caje," Hanley said quietly.

Caje shook his head. "Let's just get going. We've got a lot of ground to cover."

"All right, Private. Lead the way."

"Yes, sir!"

END OF PART FOUR

-X-X-X-X-

[i] You're crazy!

[ii] An aperitif, please. And what will you have/do you want?

[iii] And I am Hirondelle (a code name meaning "swallow" (the bird))

[iv] And my name is …

[v] Without a doubt

[vi] And you also

[vii] Good luck

Oh. and _fils de putain_ is the French equivalent of SOB.


	5. Chapter 5

**HERE ENDETH THE LESSON  
>(EPILOGUE)<strong>

Caje and Kirby jumped from the jeep when it screeched to a halt in the small French village not far from the border between France and Belgium.

Kirby looked around. "You know, Caje, it'd be nice if we could see one of these places before it got turned into rubble."

"Hmm."

The two men unloaded their gear. They had hardly stepped away from the jeep when the driver revved the engine and took off.

"Kirby! Caje!" Saunders waved to them.

"Hey, Sarge!" Kirby laughed and shook Saunders' hand. "What happened, they throw you out of the hospital?"

Sarge grinned. "Something like that."

Caje nodded quietly. "Glad to see you, Sarge. You are well?"

"That's what they tell me. We're holed up in what used to be a bakery, about two blocks that way."

"T'anks, Sarge. Kirby, see you later." He quick-stepped away in the direction the non-com had indicated.

Saunders looked after his scout. "Is he all right, Kirby?"

"Well, he ain't talkin' much. Not that he's all that big a talker anyway, but he's talkin' even less than usual."

"Hanley told me how you guys figured out the Krauts were playing you."

"Yeah, ole Caje recognized that listening post thing and knew they were snooping on us. We just turned the tables on 'em."

"Lieutenant's putting you guys in for a medal, especially Caje."

"It ain't a medal he needs, Sarge, unless it's a St. Christopher's medal."

Saunders was puzzled. "I don't get you, Kirby."

"It's a long story. If you really want to know, I'll tell you later. Right now, I'm gonna pick out a good place to sleep in that bakery."

A bemused Saunders waved him away and Kirby headed off to the bivouac.

X X X

Later that day, he found the scout sitting on the side of a broken fountain in what was left of the village's center, smoking and looking up at the local church.

"Caje."

"Kirby. Sorry, pal. I don't feel much like talking."

"Well, then, do some listening instead."

Caje decided that he'd get rid of Kirby faster if he just let the BAR man say his piece than if he tried to argue with him. "Okay, go ahead."

"Got a cigarette?"

Caje smiled wryly and tossed the pack to Kirby, who sat down on the lip of the fountain. Kirby lit his cigarette off of Caje's and puffed for a moment. "I kinda get the feeling that the Major did a number on you, on what you believe."

The Cajun shrugged.

"Caje, just because someone tells lies about something doesn't make it less true. I mean, what the Major did, doesn't mean that believin' in God and all that isn't - ah, hell, Caje, you know what I mean. Don't you?"

Caje smiled humorlessly. "Yes, Kirby, I t'ink I understand." He turned to his friend. "Were you raised Catholic?"

"Well, kinda. I mean, my old lady went to church all the time. After my old man left us, she kept goin' when she could. She hadda take an extra job to keep things together and all, but she kept prayin'. I didn't see how it made things any better for us and I kinda resented her spending all that time there and not with me and Ruthie and George." He squinted at the sky. "I guess I didn't understand that it made things easier on her, that she found some kinda comfort there she couldn't get anywhere else."

"So did you have your first Communion and all t'at?"

"Communion, yeah. Didn't get confirmed though. I was out on the streets by that point."

Caje took a deep breath. "Well, I went t'rough de whole t'ing. I was baptized the day I was born, first Communion, Confirmation, altar boy, everyt'ing. I was taught to respect t'e fat'ers, t'e sisters, all t'at. Maman's frère, Guillaume, I never met him but he's a priest in Wisconsin somewhere. Dere's t'ose who say you can't be Cajun if you're not Catholic." His voice quieted to the point that Kirby had to lean forward to hear him. "I trusted that _fils de putain_! I believed him! All out of what I grew up with, respected, had faith in."

Kirby was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Yeah, Caje, but that's what I'm trying to get at. Him bein' a liar and all, yeah, he was, and he got you where you're vulnerable. But if you let him take your religion away and all, then it's like he got you twice, see?"

Caje contemplated this silently for a moment, then flicked the ash off his cigarette. "Yeah. I do."

The BAR man gestured at the church in front of them. "There's a priest here, a – what is it you guys call 'em, a kyurie?"

"Curé."

"Yeah, a real one. I checked. I was thinking that, well, maybe we could both go to confession. Been awhile for me, you know."

"I don't know, Kirby."

"C'mon, Caje. Back at the chateau, you said confession was supposed to make you feel clean again. Isn't that what you need right now?"

After another long pause, Caje tossed away his cigarette. "Yeah. I do need t'at." He stood up and grinned at Kirby. "Let's go. Alt'ough maybe you should let me go first, pal. I have a feeling you're going to be in there awhile, non?"

"Very funny, Caje."

The scout chuckled and clapped his friend on the shoulder as they entered the door of the church together.

- 30 -


End file.
